I have got a doll that

Came from Paris too;
It can walk and talk as

Well as you!”
Still, till now, there sat one

Little girl;
Simple as a snowdrop,

Without flounce or curl.
Modest as a primrose,

Soft, plain hair brushed back, But the color of her dress was

Black—all black.
Swift she glanced around with

Sweet surprise ;
Bright and grave the look that

Widened in her eyes.
To entertain the party

She must do her share. As if God had sent her

Stood she there;
Stood a minute, thinking,

With crossed hands,
How she best might meet the

Company's demands.
Grave and sweet the purpose

To the child's voice given: “ I have a little brother

Gone to heaven!”

On the little party

Dropped a spell ;
All the little flounces

Rustled where they fell;
But the modest maiden

In her mourning gown,
Unconscious as a flower,

Looketh down.

Quick my heart besought her,

Silently:
“Happy little maiden,

Give, oh, give to me
The highness of thy courage,

The sweetness of thy grace,
To speak a large word in a

Little place."
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward.

THE LITTLE ORATOR.

(Written for Ed. Everett, and recited by him in childhood.)

PRAY, how should I, a little lad,

In speaking make a figure ?
You're only joking, I'm afraid,-

Do wait till I am bigger.

But since you wish to hear my part,

And urge me to begin it, I'll strive for praise, with all my heart,

Though small the hope to win it.

V'll tell a tale, how Farmer John

A little roan colt bred, sir, And every night and every morn

He watered and he fed, sir.

Said Neighbor Joe to Farmer John,
“Aren't you a silly dolt, sir,
To spend such time and care upon

A little useless colt, sir?"

Said Farmer John to Neighbor Joe,
“ I'll bring my little roan up,
Not for the good he now can do,

But will do when he's grown up.

The moral you can well espy,

To keep the tale from spoiling; The little colt, you think, is I,

I know it by your smiling.

And now, my friends, please to excuse

My lisping and my stammers;
I, for this once, have done my best,
And so—I'll make my manners.

Thaddeus M. Harris.

THE LITTLE LIGHT.

The light shone dim in the headland,

For the storm was raging high ;
I shaded my eyes from the inner glare,

And gazed on the west, gray sky.
It was dark and lowering; on the sea

The waves were booming loud,
And the snow and the piercing winter sleet

Wove over all a shroud.

“God pity the men on the sea to-night!" I said to

my

little ones,
And we shuddered as we heard afar

The sound of minute-guns.
My husband came in, in his fishing coat

(He was wet and cold that night), And he said, “There'll lots of ships go down

On the headland rocks to-night.”

" Let the lamp burn all night, mother,"

Cried little Mary then; “ 'Tis but a little light, but still

It might save drowning men.” “Oh, nonsense !” cried her father (he

Was tired and cross that night), “ The headland lighthouse is enough.”

And he put out the light.

That night, on the rocks below us,

A noble ship went down,
But one was saved from the ghastly wreck,

The rest were left to drown.
66 We steered by a little light,” he said,

« Till we saw it sink from view:
If they'd only 'a left that light all night

My mates might have been here too!”

Then little Mary sobbed aloud,

Her father blushed for shame;
66 'Twas our light that you saw,” he said,

« And I'm the one to blame.”
'Twas a little light-how small a thing!

And trifling was its cost,
Yet for want of it a ship went down,

And a hundred souls were lost.

THE WISH OF THE FLOWERS.

THE flowers, one day, amid the scented air,
In turn confessed the fate which they would deem
Most suited to adorn their beauty fair.
A saucy Rosebud, wooed of sunlit beam,
Spoke first: “Sisters,” she said, “it is my dream
To see the world in all its proud display
Of kingly court, of feast and pageant gay.”